In the middle of Grandpa’s long drive through the desert last week was a stop at this place sort of in the middle of nowhere that had this band playing outside in their porch area. Of course, I was delighted because they had a fellow chick bass player. Well . . . she could actually play the bass.
She was such a rocker chick player she had pink strings. I mean, how great is that? I cannot imagine getting to a place where I was bold enough to have pink strings. I don’t think anyone should be looking at my strings or fingers right now. In fact, I would prefer if no one looked at me because I fear it would be in alarm. “What are you playing? What have you done? What note was that supposed to be?” No, it’s better if no one looks at me at all.